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I BUILD MY HOUSE 



I Build My House 



By 



JANE BURR A^^-v. ^ ^ 
Author of ''City Dust" 




NEW YORK 
JAMES T. WHITE & CO. 

1918 



% 



Acknowledgment is hereby gratefully made to the 
following magazines and newspapers in whose pages 
have appeared the poems in this book: Mother's Maga- 
zine, Puck, Life, Judge, Brooklyn Life, Munsey, Cava- 
lier, Uncle Remus, Boston Cooking School Magazine, 
New York Times, New York Press, New York Tribune, 
New York American, New York Call, Coming Nation, 
Chicago Record Herald, The Masses, Much Ado, and 
International Syndicate. q t> ^^ 



.^•b^ 



DEG -6 1917 ' 



COPYRIGHT 1917 / 

By JAMES T. WHITE & CO. 



©CI.A479451 



Nf\p 



TO 
MY MOTHER 

WHO ALWAYS BELIEVED 



CONTENTS 

Manifesto ^^ 

The Way of the Prophet 13 

Woman's Rights ^5 

Ho-Yo-To-Ho! 16 

Re-Birth 17 

Mother-Heart 17 

A Woman Speaks 18 

// / Were a Painter 19 

Fealty 20 

Victory 21 

The Reward 2- 

The Way of Mothers 23 

The Old Belle's Reverie 24 

Every Mother 25 

Dream Babies 26 

The Vision 27 

My Brother 28 

Re-Marriage 29 

Bad Magic ^0 

Ghosts ^1 

Indian Summer ^1 

Together ^2 

The Way of Love 32 

So You Wonder f 33 

Three Loves • 34 

The Reproach 35 

Confession 36 



VII 



Love's Unwisdom 37 

// You Would Love 38 

Venomous Forty 39 

Recompense 40 

Love Is Youth 40 

The Renegade 41 

The Fear ! 42 

Beauty's Last Stand 43 

At Night 43 

One Time 44 

"Unto Itself" 45 

The Wakening 46 

The Wonder Way 47 

The Price of Motherhood 48 

The First Baby 49 

The Wedding Night 50 

The Black Hours 51 

The Voice of the 'Cello 52 

The Difference 53 

Humility 53 

When the Rouge Begins to Show 54 

The Propagandist 55 

The Thickness of Blood 57 

The Prompter 58 

Because I Am Free 59 

Feminine Wanderlust 60 

The Deliverance 61 

The Mutineer 62 



VIII 



The Only One Left 63 

Dear Old Sixty 65 

The Rampaging Soul 66 

The Adventurer 67 

A Double Game 67 

The Reproach 68 

Woman 69 

We Meet Her Every Day 70 

My Lady Loveth 71 

The Mother Job 72 

The Old Belle's Drinking Song 73 

The Prodigal 74 

Ballade of Old Household Accounts 76 

Ballade of Good Literature 78 

The Storeroom 79 

Woman — The Martyr 80 

Reverie de la Rag Bag 81 

There Ain't No Sich Animal 82 

Great Heartedness 83 

Love and Lingerie 84 

The Business Woman 85 

The Divorce Game 86 

Treason 86 

The Game 87 

Different Methods 88 

The Cutey 89 

The Land of Dare 90 

Prose and Poetry 91 



IX 



Children 92 

The Bewildered Seer 92 

Little Central Park West 93 

Simnging 94 

The Wind 95 

The Sun 96 

The Strange Looking-Glass 96 

Shadders 97 

The Best Book 98 

The Rag Man Is Coming 99 

A Little Boy's Wish 100 

The Great White Horse 101 

Scissors to Grind 102 

The Mud Pie Baker 103 

Woke Up, Old Earth 104 

See-Saw 105 

Play! Play! 106 

Doughnut Night 107 

Hallow-E'en Is Coming! 108 

New Shoes 109 

A Chance for Every Naughty Boy 110 

Thanksgiving Ill 

Another Schoolroom 112 

The Busy Plants 113 

In Grandma's Village 114 

Laughter 115 

The Old Year's Gift 116 

A Little Philosopher in a Hospital Ward 117 



I BUILD MY HOUSE 



MANIFESTO 

Make way! We come — zvhose banners brush the sky- 
To take from man his best, our best to give; 

To march with life, and not watch life go by; 

To laugh — to love — to think — to know — to live. 



12 



THE WAY OF THE PROPHET 

BECAUSE I thought a brand new thought, 
My father raged and stamped and fought, 
My mother shuddered lozv zvith fear; 
My sister spilt a social tear; 
My brother shunned the mystic "They" 
Because of all that "They" might say; 
The mystic "They" avoided me 
As though I oozed with leprosy; 
And when they all refused the light, 
I knew at last that I was right! 



13 



^i^ 



WOMAN'S RIGHTS 

O live within a dream-tight, light-proof shell ; 
To think no thought that isn't furred with mold ; 
To dress becomingly but not too well ; 

To squelch your youth by looking somewhat old ; 
To love the sheep-life and the sheltering fold; 
To see your men friends — well, say — some rare Sunday, 

And married, to be sealed and pigeon-holed: 
These things are Woman's Rights," says Mrs. Grundy. 

"To let another engineer your fate 

While you play puppet to that other's will; 
To live submissively and propagate, 

Or trudge alone the economic hill; 

To spit yourself upon the kitchen grill, 
And live the doll-house life till kingdom come; 

To know your husband false, and love him still : 
These things are Woman's Rights," says Father Glum. 

"To live on substitutes for vital truth, 

And end by bogging in the miry ways; 
To squander on my children all your youth. 

And calmly rock alone in after days ; 

To dance, a mote in my resplendent rays, 
To glean from me such knowledge as you can ; 

To lie, to cheat, to steal, and find it pays: 
These things are Woman's Rights," says Everyman. 



15 



HO-YO-TO-HO! 

IN a streak of light across the skies, 
I shall burst in a blaze against your eyes ; 
I shall live on the peaks of the world you've made, 
And the power in me shall make you afraid 
To wallow and snort in the slime below ; 
For the time will come when a woman shall know. 

You'll clutch at me with your almond nail, 
As I skim the blue in the comet's trail ; 
You'll rage and stamp in your satin bows, 
In your broidered shirt and your silken hose, 
And the snarl of your curses shall reach my ear 
As the echo of echoes, echoing near. 

And then when you cannot hinder my flight; 
When the rights of man are a woman's right; 
When the world is a man's and a woman's world, 
My fluttering wings shall be unfurled. 
And cleaving the sky, with a comrade's pride, 
I shall mark you out, and drop to your side ; 

For the whole of me and the whole of you 
Is the thing God's promise is fastened to; 
And the loss of you was a bitter pain 
That smote me over and over again. 
When the light I know, is the light you see, 
I'll take you back to the heights with me 
Forever — for all eternity. 



16 



RE-BIRTH 

THAT tearing through the smutted veil I 
That rush of air! That untried wail! 
At first I wept and bawled at fate 
That birth should come to me so late; 
And then I thumbed the unscrawled years, 
And laughed, exulting, through my tears; 
For ten were left for passion's fling 
In which my tingling flesh would sing; 
And then ten more before the brink; 
And then ten more to weigh and think; 
And then ten more to rock and smile, 
And know that life had been worth while! 

MOTHER-HEART 

O Mother-Heart with your aching throb, 
With your endless watch and your thankless job, 
How rollicking sweet your laughter skips 
To the bubbling song from a baby's lips ! 
How sturdy the glow of your graver charm 
That shelters the whole wide world from harm, 
All bruised and battered — and still you yearn! 
I sing my verses that men may learn 
How small your pay, how gallant your part, 
Valiant, unconquered Mother-Heart. 



17 



A WOMAN SPEAKS 

FOR to spend the day-time scrubbin' in an endless 
dull routine, 
For to spend the night-time sobbin' out her grief, 
For to spend the dream-time dreamin' she was made to 
be a queen — 
Is a woman's occupation here in chief. 

Oh! the ladies in their carriages would like to think 
they're free, 
'Cause they never has to use their waxy hands; 
But their hearts is always cankerin' in them the same 
as me, 
For our eyes has met, and women understands. 

And the only bitter thing that's left for livin' ones is 
death, 

And the stiflin' air below makes me afraid; 
Yet I orten't be, for crampiness and suffocatin' breath 

Is the only thing for which a woman's made. 



18 



IF I WERE A PAINTER 

IF I were a painter, I'd borrow 
The crimsonest blossoms that grow, 
And touch up the dull lips of sorrow, 
And redden pale cheeks to a glow ; 
I'd copper the hair that is grayest, 

And smooth off the wrinkles of years— 
I'd change faded things to the gayest. 
And paint out the very last tears. 



19 



FEALTY 

IT'S a gentleman's place to stamp and swear, 
And shoot his fist through the blackened air ; 
It's a woman's place to quiver and stare, 
And lift her eyes in a hopeless prayer. 

It's a gentleman's place to wrack and smudge, 
And grant her peace with a lasting grudge ; 
It's a woman's place to hearken and trudge 
In the way laid down by her earthly judge. 

It's a gentleman's place when his spleen is spent 
To salve his helot with blandishment ; 
It's a woman's place to be redolent 
Of honeyed loving and sweet content. 

ENVOY 

A woman is wrought of steel and flame, 
And the heart is free if the tongue is lame, 
And the soul runs wild that you think you tame — 
But a woman is bound to play the game. 



20 



VICTORY 

STENCH and crime and bloody meed, 
Under the sunlit skies — 
Out where the carrion buzzards feed, 
Out where the War-God sates his greed, 
And youth in his beauty dies ! 

Teuton or Slav, Saxon or Gaul — 

Which stirs the blood in me? 
Whose are the banners to hold in thrall 
Mountains and rivers and seas and all — 
Where shall the Victory be? 

Woman I am, and mother, too; 

Mine is the blood you spill; 
Mine are bones your bullets hew ; 
Mine is the heart you rifle through; 

Mine are the sons you kill. 

Teuton or Slav, Saxon or Gaul? 

None stirs the blood in me. 
Peace be the banners that hold in thrall 
Mountains and rivers and seas and all — 

Peace be the Victory! 



21 



THE REWARD 

OUT of my arms you have wandered, 
Dear little, brave little boy; 
Passionate mother-love squandered 
All on a first little joy; 
Only a toy, 
Dear little, brave little boy. 

Blinded with tears I caressed you, 
Gave you the chance to be free; 
Choking with misery I blessed you, 

You who were visiting me; 

Now I can see 

You are much happier, free. 

Gaily you beckon the others, 

Gaily they leave me alone ; 
Go little sisters and brothers ! 

Following wraiths of your own ; 

My seeds are sown; 

I shall sit weeping alone. 



22 



THE WAY OF MOTHERS 

I'VE tucked him under the blankets, 
I've snufifed the flickering light; 
His gaping satchel mocked and stared, 

As I said, "My son — good-night." 
Tomorrow and tomorrow 

I'll come, but he will have flown; 
Tomorrow and tomorrow 
I'll rock by the hearth alone. 

I've kissed his wee little bruises, 

I've buttoned his round-collared shirts; 
Taught him the tales of gnomes and elves. 

And bound his baby hurts; 
I've watched beside his cradle 

When the fevers raged and burned, 
And stood with God at the turning 

Where the bigger things are learned. 

And now the nesting is over. 

He aches for the spread of his wings; 
Aches for his chance — his bitter chance 

To learn the bigger things; 
And way out there who'll soothe him — 

So helpless they are, our men, 
I'll go once more while he's sleeping, 

And tuck him in again. 



23 



THE OLD BELLE'S REVERIE 

HERE beneath the shaded glare 
In my easeful, leathern chair, 
I am hungry for the street. 
Always through my sturdy walls 
I can hear the quick footfalls ; 
And the outside, careless calls 
Make me hungry for the street. 

I am hungry for the crowd, 

For the garish and the loud. 
For the organ grinder's tune, 
For a night beneath the moon. 
For the feel, again, of June, 

For the chance to steal a sweet. 
For a peep through blinds to see 
Happiness that beckons me — 

I am hungry for the street. 

Dancing street I used to know — 
How you ripple by below, 

Swaying, pushing, crowded street ! 
Though I'm old and warped and sere. 
And they make it pleasant here 
With the fire and cushions near — 

I am hungry for you, street! 



24 



EVERY MOTHER 

OUR passion swept by, like a midsummer rain 
In the wake of a shimmering light, 
And my soul struggled up through the dullness and pain. 
And wandered alone in the night. 

Oh ! the byways of life are tear-misty and dim, 

When the romance of loving is done ; 
So the castles I builded for me and for him, 

I builded anew for his son. 

My baby, my poet, my blossom, fresh blown — 
My lover ! How could you have guessed 

That my senses leapt skyward to God on his throne 
With your cherry-ripe lips at my breast ! 

My boy, O my worshipful, worshipful boy — 

With your voice like a querulous bird, 
And the bursting of spring in your reckless young joy. 

And your goldeny vision unblurred ! 

How could she have come with her musical sigh. 
With her roses of youth and her charms, « 

With a beckoning passion afire in her eye 
And stolen you out of my arms ! 

O woman, you've shivered the bloom of my life ; 

Again in the darkness I wait; 
I — love you? No, never! You thief of a wifel 

I hate you — I hate you — I hate ! 



25 



DREAM BABIES 

WHEN the day is gray and the sky hangs down, 
And the sunbeams melt to raining, 
And the folks go slushing about the town 
In a mood of deep complaining, 

It's then I sink in my fireside chair 

With my heart in a mist of glories, 
And their little pink fingers in my hair 

And their little ears pricked for stories; 

And I hold them close and I whisper low, 

Till a fillet of sun comes beaming — 
Then I coax and beg but they laugh and go — 

My babes of the gray day-dreaming. 



26 



THE VISION 

I'VE seen a vision — 
And my lips are warm and trembly pink, 
And my eyes are shining blue, 
And I stand expectant on the brink 
Of the world where things come true. 

There is a vision — 

Where the brow is wreathed in laurel leaves, 

And ribbons span the breast, 
And the poor old world itself believes 

That the laurel leaves are best. 

But Oh ! my vision — 

Is the one where baby fingers cling 

And the hearth's a cherry hue. 
And the gleesome voices rise and ring, 

And my love is near and true. 



27 



MY BROTHER 

HOW we rode the glassy breakers ! How we tracked 
the silver dew ! 
How we scaled the icy hill-tops, in the early morning 

blue! 
How I swore to you, my brother, that no knight with 

gallant song, 
Could bewitch me into leaving you ! But brother, I was 
wrong. 

Love you still? I do, my brother. I would soothe 

your hurts and woes, 
But I'd bare my breast, and face for him, the world's 

revengeful blows. 
H you chose me as your guardsman, you could trust me 

not to shirk, 
But for him I'd wear my finger-tips down to the bone 

with work. 

Oh ! I still would tramp the forest at your side through 

all the night. 
And I still would climb the mountains in the crystal 

morning light ; 
But my heart is by the open fire where other worlds 

grow dim, 
And I long to light the candles and just dream at home 

with him. 



28 



RE-MARRIAGE 

IT seemed so wonder-sweet, at last to come back home 
to him — 
My whole soul full of passion and my tired eyes tense 

and dim. 
He touched my fingers lightly in that senseless, jostling 

crowd, 
But the choruses within us both were singing long and 

loud. 
His lips ran on of country-folk, of trains and motor- 
boats, 
But all the time our sobbing hearts were beating in our 

throats. 
The highway sped beside us with the springtime in the 

trees, 
But both the hungry hearts in us were sighing with 

the breeze. 
We looked into each other's eyes, and knew that pain 

was done — 
That life had thwacked and pummeled us, but we at 

last had won. 
And who was I to threaten fate, and shudder at the 

cost? 
And what cared I for women-folk that he had loved 

and lost? 
And what to him were other lands and smiles and 

laughs of men? 
The only thing that mattered was, that we were one 

again. 



29 



BAD MAGIC 

WE used to live a thrilling sort of way, 
Because our very souls v^^ere weather-blown; 
We owed the landlord and we couldn't pay; 
We owed for bread and milk and telephone; 
The house was full of stufT we didn't own, 
Yet all the time we bluffed and wore a smile ; 

We kinged and queened it on a credit throne : — 
It's different now since Johnny made his pile. 

The ring of life is gone from every day, 

The minutes murmur in a monotone ; 
Our home's a gold-leaf, bric-a-brac display, 

But all the fun of owning it has flown. 

I sit and twirl my thumbs like some old crone; 
The bills are paid, but oh ! I loved the guile 

That filled the day whose end was all unknown : — 
It's different now since Johnny made his pile. 

The very air we breathe seems thick and gray. 
The words we speak come dull and dead as stone ; 

We used to scheme — we had so much to say — 
We used to like to touch the danger zone. 
Then draw each other backward with a groan ; 

Ah me! those little fears were well worth while. 
For then I never found myself alone : — 

It's different now since Johnny made his pile. 

ENVOY 

O good old days of nerve and stiff back-bone, 
When debts and bluff and love were all the style; 

How sweet it was, the future then foreshown : — 
It's different now since Johnny made his pile. 



30 



GHOSTS 

THERE are prim ghosts who draw the winding 
sheet, 
Regretting wantonness, though it was sweet; 
My yawning ghost will shake his weary fist — 
Regretting but the sweetnesses I missed ! 

INDIAN SUMMER 

IF all the rugs of Persia lay outspread 
In competition with each tinted hill — 
How frail would seem the oriental skill 
Against the flaming woof where summer bled ! 
With all its million skeins of gorgeous thread. 
The summer sun has woven with a will, 
And now at last the universal thrill 
Of Autumn's burning gold and coppered red! 
And yet the royal dye is fraudulent; 

One biting blow, and all the glory's tossed — 
A faded drugget on the country lanes ; 
The very noonday sun is impotent. 

Last night a stealthy wind was at the panes, 
And on the bridge at dawn I saw the frost. 



31 



TOGETHER 

BY some weird charm within us two 
We merge as streams of sunshine do, 
And forth in heaven-guided flight 
Flash out as one impassioned light. 

And then a clash, a shade athwart — 
And planets are not more apart ; 
Vain commonplaces pass to screen 
The wreckage of what lies between. 

I look again if it be he ; 
Bewildered, too, he stares at me. 
And then there blows a subtle breath 
And trembling back from spirit death, 

Led by some instinct half divine, 
His love comes wavering to mine; 
Like Adam wakened from the clod, 
Our fingers touch the hand of God. 

THE WAY OF LOVE 

OH! One does the loving, the other is mute; 
One sits in deafness, and one pipes his flute ; 
So I laughed as I counted my worth in pure gold. 
And gave him my heart as a jewel is sold; 
But the youth in me flamed at his first tender touch, 
And I loved, and I piped, and I gave overmuch, — 
But I'd rather go soaring and venture a fall. 
Than die never knowing the heavens at all 1 



32 



so YOU WONDER? 

SO you wonder what I'm thinking 
All the livelong lazy day? 
I am living fairy hours 
High in pyramided towers; 
I am bosom deep in flowers, 

Silver brooklets all the way — 
These are things that keep me thinking 
All the livelong lazy day. 

So you wonder what I'm saying 
When I whisper to the dew? 

I am bidding love come nearer, 

Tell me sweeter, tell me clearer, 

That he holds me ever dearer, 
That his heart is ever true — 

These are dream-things that I'm saying 
When I whisper to the dew. 

So you wonder what I'm doing 
When I straggle in and out? 

I am winding wreaths of daisies, 

Dancing hynns and singing praises, 

For my lover while he lazys 
Where there's neither fear nor doubt- 

These are dream-things that I'm doing 
When the city's blotted out! 



33 



THREE LOVES 

THERE were three loves that filled my years 
With piping laughter, bitter tears 
And ragged sighs; 
Three loves that soothed me with their sweet, 
Or stamped me, trembling, under feet, 
With choking cries. 

The first — ah, mother dear! — your lips. 
Your eager, steady finger-tips, 

Your sweeted breast. 
How gay we rollicked, hand in hand, 
Across the green, enchanted land ! 

That love was best. 

And then the love too soon begun. 
Too fiery red and too soon done — 

The love that aches ; 
The love too great, the love too brief, 
That leaves one all alone with grief — 

The love that breaks. 

And then the autumn love that came 
Without the blare, without the flame, 

And warmed my soul ; 
The love that lighted all my way 
Against the dark of yesterday. 

And made me whole. 



34 



THE REPROACH 

FLAMING with passion I came 
To lean on the edge of your heart, 
Yours was a treacherous game; 
Yours was a play-actor's part, 
When all in a glory I came 
To lean on the edge of your heart. 

And the deeper I gave of my soul, 
The deeper my love seemed to live; 

I knew but one luminous goal — 
To give you and give you and give; 

And the deeper you drank of my soul. 
The deeper my love seemed to live. 

And you threw me an hour or two 
At the end of your glorious day — 

So little my love meant to you; 
So little you gave me for pay — 

A half-hearted hour or two 

At the end of your glorious day. 



35 



CONFESSION 

LOVE looked so dull; I never dreamed 
How dear he was — so cheap he seemed; 
Forsaken now, I know that he 
Was sun and moon and stars to me. 



36 



LOVE'S UNWISDOM 

ONE broken word from a trusted mate, 
And love is never again the same; 
It calls itself by the still sweet name, 
But it knows itself by the name of hate. 

The lantern hangs by the garden gate, 
But dimly burns the sputtering flame; 

One broken word from a trusted mate, 
And love is never again the same. 

He stands alone in the dark to wait, 
And a thrill turns back with a sob of shame; 
He hates perhaps where he would not blame. 

Wherefore this sullen decree of fate? 

One broken word from a trusted mate, 
And love is never again the same. 



37 



IF YOU WOULD LOVE 

IF you would love a little less; 
If you would answer my caress ; 
If but my gentler warmth might grow 
Unfrightened by your passion's glow — 
I might desire with eagerness. 

True, maids there are who would confess 
Their tender moods, did you but press ; 
Whose love would surge and overflow, 
If you would love. 

And yet I ache with dull distress 
When you unwittingly transgress. 
O lover ! here's a thing to know : — 
The whole of love you shall not show ! 
Be wise and leave a thrill to guess — 
If you would love! 



VENOMOUS FORTY 

OYOU simpering maids 
5 With your conquering breasts, 
And your Titiany braids 

And your echoing jests! 
I am scornful of you, 

For your tragedy waits. 
I am through ! I am through ! 

I have smoothed back my hair, 
And sponged white my face, 

And why should I care 

That you've stolen my place? 

It's a role you shall play. 
And I gloat, for I know — 

That it's just for a day. 

And each blemish and blotch 

I shall welcome with joy, 
And your years I shall notch 

On a devil-made toy; 
Go, conquer your Gaul ! 

You will stumble, and then 
I shall roar when you fall. 

you credulous maids. 
With your jubilant breasts, 

And your coppery braids. 
And your mimicking jests! 

1 am scornful of you, 
For your tragedy waits. 

I am through! I am through! 



39 



RECOMPENSE 

THERE is no love-word spoken, 
There is no joy so gay, 
That will not leave you broken 
Before the end of day. 

And all the bitter aching, 

And all the stifled cries 
But turn to merrymaking 

Before the sunset dies. 

LOVE IS YOUTH 

FOR the solemn old, sober old workaday mill, 
You may choose him with frost on his head 
But oh, for the madcap, tempestuous thrill, 
His blood shall run new, molten lead ! 



THE RENEGADE 

4CTKNOW they are exquisite visions to see, 

X But plumage and draperies are not for me. 
If nothing but patches and powder will please, 
I'm lost, for I will not deceive him with these. 

"My soul is astir with a different art; 
A breast all a-quiver, an echoing heart, 
A lash drooping over an iris, tear-dim, 
A throat throbbing brave with the loving of him." 

"No, no! Learn the steps of your life's capriole! 
A curse on the woman who juggles her role! 
Go, dance till you drop at the Bangle and Frill, 
If you won't perform for him — some woman will I' 



41 



THE FEARl 

OH ! drop me shroudless down into the sea 
Where warted devils claw and crunch with glee, 
Where skeletons parade the deathless night— 
Their sockets sprouting green anemone ; 

Or, stretch me stark upon the pulsing plains 
Where she-wolves wail and swell their maddened veins, 
Where life is scorched and shrivelled in the light. 
Then left to rot beneath the ruthless rains ; 

Or, raise me high upon some jagged peak 

Where buzzards pick and scratch and night-things shriek, 

Where lazy lizards droop their sleepy eyes. 

And hordes of angels, nearing heaven, speak. 

You shall not wrap me under carven stone! 
I'd rather vultures danced my littlest bone. 
I fear not death, for life has made me wise — 
I only fear the endless watch — alone! 



42 



BEAUTY'S LAST STAND 

I DARE not steal moments for sleeping, 
I dare not take time to exhort, 
I dare not risk sighing or weeping — 
The time is so short! 

Oh ! where shall I spend my last flowers ? 

Oh! where shall I turn for a thrill? 
Oh ! where shall I squander the hours — 

Before youth is still? 

AT NIGHT 

I WAKE — I do my woman's job 
And elbow roughly through the mob 
Like every other soul that is for hire. 

Asleep — and soft across my lips 
The love-god lays his finger-tips. 
Ah me! all dreams are just fulfilled desire! 



43 



ONE TIME 

ONE time I throbbed, and burnt, and yearned 
For all the wonders to be learned ; 
My trembling fingers clawed the door 
Of knowledge that had marched before; 
I ached for love, for fame, for pain. 
For thrills of war and golden gain, 
For fountains built of porphyry. 
For silver boats to thread the sea, 
For winged things to split the sky, 
For crowns and mighty seats on high. 

And now for all I've won and lost. 
For love and all that love has cost. 
For joy, for pain, for wintry chills. 
For hope, for love, for quickened thrills — 
I ask but that the throbbings cease, 
And leave me here alone with peace. 



44 



"UNTO ITSELF" 

OH, who can play when we bid him to play? 
And who can hold his youthfulness still? 
And who can pray when the priest says pray? 
And who can thrill when the law says thrill? 

For the budding and bursting of life, is play; 

And prayer, is the touch of the Lord's right hand 
And love, is only the bubble and spray 

On the mystical shores of a far-away land. 



45 



THE WAKENING 

THE mother within me laughed and sang 
In the joy of a love to be — 
Strawberry lips and milk-sweet breath 

Asking their life of me! 
My dream-baby's hair was gold like the moon, 

My dream-baby's eyes were blue, 
My dream-baby's voice was a rapturous croon — 
But my dream-baby never came true ! 

The mother within me wept alone. 

While I strode with a stately show, 
Battling the curse with a face of steel, 

Daring the world to know. 
My dream-baby's hair grew faded and pale. 

Her blue little stars closed tight, 
And the rapturous croon was a comfortless wail 

As she left me alone in the night. 

The mother within me shivered cold, 

And the love in my heart grew still ; 
Soulless, I sheltered a stranger babe, 

And my loving awoke with a thrill. 
Ah ! babe of another one's flesh and bone. 

Ah! babe of the mist and the dew! 
But babe of my heart and my soul — babe my own- 

Ah ! baby, real baby, come true ! 



46 



THE WONDER WAY 

BEFORE he came, I calmed my soul, 
And tuned my quivering breast; 
With lullaby and barcarole, 
I stilled him in his nest ; 

And piled the books of wisdom high, 
And thumbed them one by one, 

That I might never hear him sigh 
Of wrong that I had done. 

But when I held him, wisdom flew — 

My baby boy ! My dove ! 
I only knew — I only knew — 

The wonder way to love ! 



47 



THE PRICE OF MOTHERHOOD 

I BORE him when my faith was new, 
And crushed him close to me ; 
Around my thumb I curled each ringlet 
That crowned his head — my baby kinglet! 
I did not know that babies grew, 
Or that they struggled free, 

Till one night, dreaming in the gloom 
Of cribs and baby cries. 

He faced me there all strangely glowing. 
With stranger words his tongue was flowing: 
His stranger soul relit the room. 
And smouldered in his eyes. 

The world had known it all along; 
Had clung about his chair ; 

Had listened to his words of beauty. 
And gone, remade about its duty; 
It was so treacherous and wrong, 
To leave me dreaming there ! 

I quit my rocker by the fire, 
And followed with the crowd; 

It was this man of mine who led them ; 
It was the word of him that fed them. 
Because of all his pure desire 
The brain of me was proud. 

I garnered all the truths he said, 
And crushed them close with joy; 



48 



Like all the world 1 stood and listened; 
Across my eyes the tear-drops glistened 
But oh ! the heart of me was lead — 
Where was my little boy? 

THE FIRST BABY 

OH! the vital crushing joy 
Of my little baby boy! 
I have kissed his precious nose, 
I have kissed his tiny toes, 
I have hugged him till my breath 
Seemed to smother me like death. 

Ah ! those sucking, tender lips 
And those clinging finger-tips ! 
Warm and intimate he rests 
On my full and yearning breasts ; 
All that mighty rush of pain — 
Give me, Lord ! give me again ! 



49 



THE WEDDING NIGHT 

FULL in the blaze of all the brilliant light, 
I passed the people there; 
Veiled were the golden fillets of my hair ; 
The crowd stood wonder-gaping at the sight ; 
And then there came across my heart a blight- 
A sudden new despair. 

For all about the place were withered hags 
That laughed at me and youth, 
In voices bare of tenderness and ruth ; 
Yet, they, too, flaunted silk and satin rags. 
And flirted little fans and beauty bags — 
And then I knew the truth ! 

In shorter time than you or I dare name, 

I shall be withered too ; 

My roses fade away, my veins show blue ; 
With only life itself to curse and blame, 
I shall be crowded from the witching game— 

I shall! But so shall you. 



50 



THE BLACK HOURS 

THE aching horror of the night, 
The ghosts that clutch and tear and smite, 
The sharp insistence of regret. 
The wracking struggle to forget, 
The all-aloneness of defeat; 
While only just across the street. 
The joyous world goes romping by 
Too giddy-gay to hear a sigh ; 
And then at last the tortured sleep 
When teeth are ground and eyelids weep ; 
And then the dazzlement of day, 
As gaudy as the cloak of May; 
And then the birth of hope again — 
The faith in God, the faith in men. 
So cloudless is the leaping light 
We march defiant toward the night. 



51 



THE VOICE OF THE 'CELLO 

THROUGH the moonlight cafe wailed the voice of 
the 'cello, 
As a prison-cramped spirit cries out to its fellow, 
And the echo sobbed back like some mad Punchinello. 

"All you gluttons out there — do you hear what I'm 

saying ? 
My heart makes that music the 'cello is playing — 
I am dizzy with grief — I am weary with praying ! 

"In our flat out in Harlem, her mother is crying! 

The baby is dead, and my Annie is dying! 

She's not ! I can't spare her I The doctor is lying ! 

"Oh, hear me ! Oh, listen ! I'm trying to teach you 
The ache of the poor, but my voice does not reach you ! 
Stop tapping your glasses ! Don't laugh, I beseech you !" 
****** 

"Those fellows can play pretty well over here — 

How human the 'cello sounds — waiter ! More beer !" 



52 



THE DIFFERENCE 

AND now I know the bitter truth— the truth of man's 
decree, 
That one false step has stilled the love you thought j^ou 

felt for me. 
Yet were you sunk ten fathoms deep in reckless shame 

and crime, 
I'd shield you with my broken heart until the end of 
time 1 

HUMILITY 

WHEN all the tangled land and sea 
Are webbed with so much mystery. 
With so much good and so much bad. 
With so much gay and so much sad — 
Then who am I to sing my song 
Of what is right and what is wrong? 



53 



WHEN THE ROUGE BEGINS TO SHOW 

AH 1 the cheek of youth has a satin weave, 
And the cheek of age is dough; 
And there's nothing on earth we love like beauty, 
And there's nothing we hate so much as duty — 
But it's childish to play at make-believe, 
When the rouge begins to show. 

What a trick it is to brighten the hair, 
And daub the cheeks with an extra glow! 
When hair is young and the strands are silky, 
And the flesh is firm and deliciously milky — 
But oh! it's a pitiful sort of snare, 
When the rouge begins to show. 

Your chance is past, O you poor old clown! 
The gallery calls, "Bravissimo" ! 
Go search for a job that's more befitting, 
An ingle-nook and a bag of knitting. 
For it's time to turn the calciums down. 
When the rouge begins to show! 



54 



THE PROPAGANDIST 

ALL the world is mold ! 
Sin is manifold !" 
Wanly came the plaint to me, sobbing in the cold. 
Answering my dirge 
Came a mighty surge — 

Came the wretched, warped, unhallowed — came the 
earthly scourge. 

"Never laugh again. 

Hopeless spawn of men ! 

We are but the loathesome, crawling, vermin of a fen ! 

Stumble through the years 

Blinded with your tears — 

We alone of all the earth — we alone are seers !" 

Then with haughty might 

Burst across my sight 

All the things of loveliness, all the things of light! 

Joyously a-tilt, 

I poised and piped my lilt — 

Piped till all the world was mellowed where the 
sweetness spilt! 

Answering my song, 
Followed on a throng — 

Followed on the beautiful, the youthful and the strong : 
Laden was the breeze 



55 



Underneath the trees — 

Laden with the chorus of a multitude of these. 

"Joyous voices ring ! 
Joyous bodies swing ! 

Through the realm of what should be joyous laughters 
ring ! 

Hail the coming years ! 

Mankind, dry your tears ! 

We alone of all the earth — we alone are seers !" 



1 






56 



w 



THE THICKNESS OF BLOOD 

HEN I was a clamoring whelp — 
A frail little image of man — 
I reached and they gave me their help 
And taught me the love of the clan ; 
For blood is thick 

And water is thin, 
And the best for a man 
Is a man's own kin. 

Then back in the seed-time I came, 

As gay as a rilleting stream, 
And their lovingness mellowed my name, 

So I gave them the heart of my dream ; 

And one said "The fool" and "The dolt !" 
And one said "I'll teach him his place !" 

And one said "I'll break him — the colt !" 
And one said "The shame — the disgrace !' 

I stumbled outside with a groan — 
On fire with their merciless hurt. 

And I found an old beggar alone, 
And I crept to his side in the dirt; 

And for fear that my senses would break, 
Out there in the cold and the dim, 

I answered the throb and the ache 
And whispered my dreaming to him. 



57 



And his crippled old arms caught me tight 

In the clasp of a true brotherhood, 
For there, in the blackness of night, 
The stranger — the wretch — understood ; 
So blood isn't thick, 

If water is thin ; 
And the worst for a man 
Is a man's own kin ! 

THE PROMPTER 

BRAVE little Puppet, be gay! 
They have trampled your vision to dust, 
They have plundered your soul 
Of its glorious goal. 
But smile at the villains — you must ! 
Though you stagger and fall on the black-shadowed 

way. 
Brave little Puppet, be gay ! 



58 



BECAUSE I AM FREE 

I WAVE my arms to the sunlit skies, 
I dance my toes on the earth, 
I shame the night with my pagan cries, 

I shock dull fools with my mirth — 
But none of your threats can frighten me 
Because I am free. Because I am free. 

And I'll touch my lips to the last red wine, 
I'll gather the very last thrill, 

I'll drink till the very last joy is mine, 
Till passion in me is still — 

And none of your threats can frighten me 

Because I am free. Because I am free. 

There is always a thin gray pointed blade 
Whose going is sure and swift — 

A red hot veil, then a pale blue shade 
In which to shudder and drift — 

So none of your threats can frighten me 

For I'll still be free. For I'll still be free. 



59 



FEMININE WANDERLUST 

FARE you well ! I am off down the long, rocky road, 
And my heart shall grow light with the lift of 
the load; 
I'll carol to beetle and cricket and bird 
In a mystic, weird way that no mortal has heard. 

I'll crumple the earth with my cool finger-tips 
And crush the wild berries to redden my lips ; 
I'll join in the revels of fairy and wight 
And pile me a pillow of leaves for the night. 

Ah, dreams are delicious and freedom is dear ! 
But to tell you the truth, why, I'd rather be here 
With my foot on the crib and my work never done, 
And the thrill of his lips at the drop of each sun. 



60 



THE DELIVERANCE 

I SENT him on his wander-way 
And bade him venture free ; 
But ah ! I knew some shining day 
He'd come back home to me. 

I stayed apart, all hungry-sweet, 

Because I understood 
That men may lie, and love, and cheat. 

But women must be good. 

He came. I crept into his arms, 

My body trembling so 
To feel him weave those golden charms 

Of the mystic long ago. 

He pushed me from him wanton-wise, 
And I, stone dead with pain, 

Looked up into his faithless eyes, 
And waked to life again. 

I might have bowed before his will, 

Content to serve and sigh. 
But he has left me free to thrill. 

To love — to cheat — to lie. 



61 



THE MUTINEER 

THE me that all the world may see 
Is stiff conventionality. 
But hid behind that frozen glance, 
A million little devils dance. 

The ones that scale the darkling hills, 
The ones that ford the ruffled rills, 
The ones that shout aloud and sing, 
The ones that ride the eagle's wing, 

The ones that love, the ones that hate, 
The ones that slyly wink at fate. 
The ones that sneer at social rule 
But shun the martyr as a fool. 

Pray hold your tongue, and courtesy ; 

It leaves you beautifully free; 

For if you openly deride, 

Then tell me, fool — where shall you hide? 



62 



THE ONLY ONE LEFT 

IWUSHED you'd seen our Fido makin' for that 
covered stool 
When old Si Holcomb come up here to figger on the 

mule, 
Old Si he started off to spin his yarn about the cat, 
And Fido give one awful howl, and stretched hisself 

out flat; 
And when you latched the gate, and he knew Si was 

sure nuff gone, 
He come a-creepin' out to stretch and give one awful 

yawn; 
And 'fore I knew it there he was asleep on that there 

cot — 
I guess I'm foolish 'bout him, but he's all the child 

we got. 

You 'member Susan-Jane and Mary- Ann? Oh! I 

dunno — 
It don't jest seem exactly right fer them to up and 

grow. 
And squeeze their lovely yaller curls all tight up into 

plaits. 
And throw their pink sunbonnets off fer stylisher 

hats; 
And them tight jersies. Zekel, well, now don't you 

recollect, 
They looked like two gray herrin's 'thout the gumption 

to object; 
And Jimmy's little Sunday pants so tight he couldn't sit, 
And you a-tellin' him that they was jest a reg-lar fit. 



63 



Now Susan-Jane's in Kansas — got a yaller-head herself ; 
And me and you is sot as pickle jars on that there shelf ; 
And Mary-Ann's in Tennessee, and Jim's gone up the 

state — 
It did seem once that he'd live here, but reckon 't warn't 

his fate. 
It would be kinder nice to have his younguns mussin' 

round — 
A-smearin' up the jam-pot and a-fiddlin' in the ground. 
It's kinder got expensive paintin' up the place each year, 
But I'm forever 'spectin' some the chuldern's comin' 

here. 

Now look't that dog a-layin' with his feet up in the air — 

I never see a human dog like that one anywhere. 

Go hide yer hat whar he can see it — bet he knows the 

trick — 
He's got it. Ain't he smart? Now go and hide yer 

walkin' stick. 
And throw his ball as fur's the well and make him 

fetch it back, 
And hide yourself as quick's yer can behind that 'tater 

sack! 
Now see if he'll come smell yer pipe if you get down 

and squat? 
I guess I'm foolish 'bout him, but he's all the child we 

got. 



64 



DEAR OLD SIXTY 

DON'T laugh at the fashionable cut of my gown, 
And call me a silly bedizened old clown ; 
Don't laugh at my heels and my ruffles and lace — 
At the waves in my hair and the flush on my face. 

Last night just at bedtime, I said to myself, 
"Why pack yourself up on the toppermost shelf, 
When a bit of assistance from nature or art 
Sends a youthfuller rush of the blood through your 
heart ? 

"What use can there be in a faded old fright 

With two pairs of 'specs' to encourage her sight — 

With a vinegar face and a scorpion tongue 

And a soul from which all the old sweetness is wrung?" 

So I knelt by my trunk, and went fumbling about 
Till I found the old rouge pot and smuggled it out; 
And there by the mirror with laughter and thrill 
I laid on the color with old-fashioned skill. 

If I leave off the roses, I droop in the back. 

And settle askew like the time-honored sack, 

But the roses uphold me through bone-ache and twinge, 

So I'll die in my boots — living up to my tinge. 

I like it, so what do I care if you feel 
That the blossoms don't look to you — well — very real? 
To me they're the breath of a conquering spell, 
For the eyes of old sixty don't see very well ! 



65 



THE RAMPAGING SOUL 

EACH morning I lie in my soft-cushioned bed, 
Awaiting the sunbeams that dance through the 
shade, 
With three feather pillows tucked under my head ; 
Was ever a body so wretchedly made? 
Then, sounding their charms like some deep-voiced 
brigade. 
Comes the chorus of kettles and stove-lids and coal — 

The kitchen's enchanting, tin-pan fusillade; 
And off and away goes my rampaging soul. 

On hot afternoons when the sun shimmers red. 

When my heart thuds and hammers, then stops still — 
afraid, 
I finish my labors, exhausted, half dead ; 

Was ever a body so wretchedly made? 

Then up from the fields come the rhodomontade 
Of Bobolink, Song Sparrow, Finch, Oriole, 

Inviting me out to their leaf-roofed arcade; 
And off and away goes my rampaging soul ! 

At night when my spirit is worn to a shred. 
And I meekly submit to the sweet proffered aid. 

How often my patient old doctor has said, 
"Was ever a body so wretchedly made?" 
Then leaping the stairs and the high balustrade 

Come the voices I love, in a charmed rigmarole; 
And out on the dark floats an old serenade; 

And off and away goes my rampaging soul ! 



O Powers that made me, don't try to evade 1 
Was ever a body so wretchedly made? 
Yet point out some bright, unattainable goal; 
And off and away goes my rampaging soul. 

THE ADVENTURER 

THE wife and babes are a wholesome load, 
And sweet is the cloistered spot, 
But I'll take my nights on the open road 
Away from the vine-clad cot. 

For a 'bo I am and the earth's my right, 

And a roof-tree's hum-drum stale ; 
And I'd barter three meals in the home firelight 

For a vision of rover's ale! 

A DOUBLE GAME 

WHY are my lips like the spill of a cherry? 
Why are my cheeks like the pink of a rose? 
I'm friends with a very conventional fairy 

Who gives me in secret two workaday beaux ; 
And the love of my life has an iron right arm, 
But the love of my dreams is the love with the charm. 
And they know not each other, for I am too wary — 
But that's why my lips are as red as a cherry. 



67 



THE REPROACH 

O MADDENED nations ! Dare you face the Lord 
And pray to him for victory's reward? 
Rise up from where you kneel — in slime and mud, 
From mangled mothers' breasts and brothers' blood ! 
God's answered prayers are with the glorious sun 
And with the peasant when his work is done ; 
With little children when their dimples smile; 
With buttercups and daisies, mile on mile. 
Shall he forswear these joys of precious worth 
To stride the bloody battlefields of earth? 
What devil's tongue has let this madness grow — 
That man should ask his God to bend so low ! 



WOMAN 

WHEN she's vexed she pretends with the coo of a 
dove; 
She pretends to be shy when she's bold; 
She pretends she will marry for nothing but love, 
When she's busy prospecting for gold. 

It's her business in life to pretend what she's not; 

She pretends she pretends to pretend, 
Till tangled all up in her intricate plot, 

She doubts her own word in the end. 

And deep in the night when she struggles alone, 
And Truth — poor crushed Truth — begs a "Why", 

Even then with a groan, she crawls back on her throne 
And pretends Truth herself is a lie ! 



69 



WE MEET HER EVERY DAY 

SLY old Mrs. Grundy— bah ! 
Mountebank and gypsy! 
I am through with all your wiles; 
I am through with cant and styles; 
I am free to laugh Hah! Hah; 
Love has made me tipsy. 

Down the darkling road I tramp, 
All my nerves a-tingle, 
Crying out when I am sad, 
Screeching out when I am glad. 
In my hand a merry lamp, 
In my heart a jingle! 

Oh! how comforting to flee 
Far away from duty; 

Learning how to love and live, 
Learning how to take and give. 
Learning how to flutter free 
In the clouds with beauty I 

In the clouds — ay, true enough! 
Fancyings amuse me; 

Nothing's real but me and you — 
What I dream, I never do ; 
Mrs. Grundy, I'm a bluff; 
Won't you please excuse me? 



70 



MY LADY LOVETH 

WHAT is the sign of love? A sigh, 
A quivering lip, a wistful eye? 
A dreamy mind, a careless tress, 
A sweet disorder in her dress? 
A waning hunger, fleeting blush. 
And when he comes — a timid hush? 

Ah no! An even breath, a lip 
Too steadfast for the artless slip ; 
An eye as cool as Autumn rain ; 
A circumspect and scheming brain ; 
A silken-netted, marcelled head; 
A costume sleek as buttered bread ; 

An appetite for fine cafes ; 

A blush that once perfected, stays ; 

A clever tongue that, sweet and fast. 

Talks only him and his; and last — 

A hold on him that rivaleth 

The clutch of hounds before the death. 



71 



THE MOTHER JOB 

IT really isn't hard to be a mother, 
There really isn't very much to do; 
The days are just exactly like each other — 

You simply shut your eyes and wander through. 

For six o'clock is time enough for rising, 
And getting all the children washed and dressed, 

And breakfast cooked — it really is surprising, 
But mothers never seem to need a rest. 

The lunches must be packed, and jackets rounded, 
And everybody soothed and sent to school; 

To say that mother rushes is unfounded — 
She's nothing more to manage as a rule. 

Unless it is to finish piles of sewing. 

And cook and wash and iron, scrub and sweep. 
To order food, and keep the furnace going, 

And then — perhaps — to hide herself and weep. 

And when at last she's tucked them under covers. 
And seen to doors that Dad's forgot to lock — 

Triumphantly at midnight, she discovers 
She's nothing more to do till six o'clock! 



n 



THE OLD BELLE'S DRINKING SONG 

TO what shall I drink with this mild cup of tea? 
To the nights and the days that were jolly? 
To the men that have broken their hearts over me? 

To the mistletoe sprays and the holly? 
To the mild summer nights that were moonlit and 

breezy? 
Ah, no — for who values the things that come easy? 

I'll drink to the dresses I couldn't afiford ; 

To the women I've envied and hated. 
I'll drink to the times when my brain-cells were bored ; 

To the loves that were sweet and ill-fated ; 
To the snubs and the flicks and the fears and the 

aching ; 
To the times when my iron-clad heart was near 
breaking ! 

I'll drink to the bitter campaign for a man — 

Most any old man that had money; 
To the shrewd reconnoitre, the miscarried plan ; 

To the years with no milk and no money. 
A toast ! To the married life I might have led ! 
Just another last cup, then away to my bed 
Where my very last chance lies so comfortably curled — 
The soothingest husband in all this nice world. 



73 



/ THE PRODIGAL 

'^1X7 AY back home the summer's coming, 
▼ » Grass is sprouting on the lawn, 

Wasps against the panes are thrumming, 
Swallows welcome in the dawn. 

In this great big selfish city- 
People never notice me; 

No one offers love or pity — 
I'm a paper boat at sea. 

I may freeze in winter's raw gust. 
Kick the sndw with summer shoes, 

Light my grate in June or August, 
Eat and drink just when I choose; 

Open windows when it's raining. 
Read beneath a light that glares, 

Spend my money entertaining, 
Live or die — for no one cares. 

Way back home there's no such blindness 
To the way one lives and moves; 

Way back home they burst with kindness, 
Life goes sliding by in grooves. 

April fourth they patched the screening, 

Painted up the garden seats ; 
Spring! and April tenth spring cleaning, 

Every stick is swathed in sheets. 



74 



Season hot ? They melt and smother 

In their flannels day by day; 
"Summer underclothes," says mother, 

"Can't be worn till first of May." 

Hall's in darkness at eleven, 

No one dares to move about; 
Meals at seven, twelve, and seven — 

Come in late — you do without. 

Mother rules with firm conviction — 

Deals out good advice to each — 
Thinks their thoughts — corrects their diction — 

Knocks their friends — and curbs their speech. 

"Home!" the word brings bitter anguish; 

Tears and sighs I interweave 
For the years I had to languish 

Till I got the nerve to leave. 



75 



BALLADE OF OLD HOUSEHOLD ACCOUNTS 

She 

THESE old accounts! They mean a fight; 
(He's feeling good — it's that cold beer) 
I'd rather handle dynamite ; 
Their very crumple hurts my ear. 
What makes you look so pleased, my dear? 
He 
Your dinner was delicious. 

She 
Oh ! thanks ; these bills then — while you're here. 
He 
How very thoughtless women are ! 
When I am smoking my cigar — 
The time is unpropitious. 

She 
Perhaps it wasn't really right ; 

Those bills of course might interfere 
With his digestion, so tonight 
I'll try my best to engineer 
The job before he eats; it's queer, 
Such times he's less capricious. 
The bills, now, Charles, don't play austere. 
He 
A woman has no savoir faire; 
When I am hungry as a bear 
The time is unpropitious. 



76 



She 
I'll try again. The sun's so bright; 

(I think he's caught the morning cheer) ; 
A woman should have second sight. 
He 
Great air this morning, Guinevere, 
It makes one sure of his career, 
And ever so ambitious. 

She 
Come, then, the bills, my chanticleer! 
He 
Before one breakfasts? Can't you see 
You'd really spoil my day for me — 
The time is unpropitious. 

ENVOY 

O husbands young and husbands sere ! 

What worse trial can you wish us? 
For settling bills, it would appear, 

All times are unpropitious. 



77 



BALLADE OF GOOD LITERATURE 

SOME people read Sir Walter Scott, 
While others bow before Flaubert; 
And Dickens must not be forgot, 
Nor Balzac with his fetching ware; 
Such holy names my shelf can spare, 
They do not meet my urgent need, 
Their charms I easily forswear, 
This is the book I like to read. 

It's dog-eared back a sorry blot. 

All scorched and curled from smoke and flare, 
Behold it! smeared with smudge and spot, 

Reposing on the kitchen chair; 

Good literature thought out with care, 
Sound logic all for which I plead — 

There's nothing better anywhere; 
This is the book I like to read. 

Oh, soup and fish and beans in pot! 

Oh, dainties made of pomme de terre! 
Oh, tart of peach or apricot! 

Oh, souffle mixed in silent prayer! 

All recipes to which I'm heir. 
The same that were my mother's creed; 

And thousands more are printed there; 
This is the book I like to read. 



78 



ENVOY 

O spouse of mine, to you I swear 
No fine editions stir my greed; 

First, last and always, I declare, 
This is the book I like to read. 

THE STOREROOM 

WILD berries from the mountain side, 
And all the orchard's luscious pride, 
In bottled hoard; 
The summer sun and summer rain 
And winds that will not blow again— 
All safely stored. 

But unseen ghosts are guarding there— 
The blistered hand, the stifling air. 

The labored breath. 
The aching limbs, the scalding sweat, 
The family's uncancelled debt — 

And Summer's death. 



79 



WOMAN— THE MARTYR 

WHEN I cut out forty night-gowns and a dozen 
under-skirts, 
And a pile of certain things I shall not mention, 
When a bolt of Scottish flannel that's intended to be 
shirts 
Lies in waiting for my scissory intention, 

Then I envy all the women-folk who cannot sew at all, 

And I wonder if I'm not a trifle foolish, 
When I make up miles of muslin every Spring and 
every Fall 

In a manner that my husband says is mulish. 

But I tell him I am helpless. Things are horrid, ready- 
made, 
For to use them's been my earnestest endeavor; 
But they pucker and they frazzle, and they rip and rot 
and fade, 
So I've really got to be a slave forever. 

Oh, he sympathizes keenly as he views the snowy heap. 
And I warn him that I'll never burrow through it; 

Then he kisses me contritely while in martyrdom I 
weep — 
But the truth is that I really like to do it! 



80 



REVERIE DE LA RAG BAG 

I'VE cut the faded drawing strings 
And spilled out every rag, 
And lo ! vain necromancy brings 
A retrospective jag. 

A bit of yellow braiding sewn 

To brilliant red brocade ! 
Frail rainbow silk — how pale it's grown, 

Despite its costly grade ! 

How perfectly I see those frocks, 

The envy of my set ; 
I wore them both with choker stocks 

That choke in memory yet. 

My word ! that green alpaca skirt 

With crimson folds below 
And little leaden weights that girt 

Me so I couldn't grow! 

Bespangled lace, just one short inch 

Festooned with silken scrim, 
Revives the pain of boots that pinch 

And wedding bells — and him. 

Alas ! this black and orange net 
That jarred my reddish hair! 

Its hundred hooks I can't forget — 
And how they made him swear! 



81 



Oh, brown and purple snakey lines I 

Oh, silks of torrid hue I 
Oh, pink with tangled ivy vines! 

Oh, black with baby blue! 

I was a poem, was I not, 

In purple, red and green? 
Great jumping, thundering, hoopskirtsl — what 

A freak I must have been ! 

THERE AIN'T NO SICH ANIMAL 

AND simpletons would like to feel, 
"One love and only one is real!" 
There are as many loves for each 
As stray within our eager reach ; 
And he or she who longs anon 

For faithfulness and sweet romance, 
Must cast himself, or her, upon 
A desert isle without a chance. 



82 



GREAT HEARTEDNESS 

WHAT rot all this talk about soul-mates ! 
I've Jim, Tom, Bill, Toby and Paul ; 
It's perfectly clear that they're equally dear, 
For I've told the same things to them all. 

I've smoothed out their brows with my fingers, 

I've cooed in their separate ears ; 
They've all held my hands and obeyed my commands, 

And they've all kissed the salt of my tears. 

But my dimples are turning to wrinkles. 

So it's me for the mooted high dive; 
I've got to draw straws — Oh, the stupid old laws ! 

I could be so contented with five. 



81 



LOVE AND LINGERIE 

SHE broidered them so pleasingly, 
She flaunted them so teasingly; 
The ribboned bits of fluffiness, 
The tucks and piles of puffiness, 
Before the wedding day. 

I watched her dimpled rosiness, 
And dreamed of future coziness 
When all her smiles and witchery, 
And all that luring stitchery. 

Would come to me to stay. 

The honeymoon flew dizzily; 
One day I found her busily 
Arranging all the lacy things. 
The lovely, dainty, racy things. 
In orderly array. 

She said, "I'd like to wear 'em all 
(The dears) but laundries tear 'em all; 
And then we're married, too, and so 
Most anything will do, and so 
I'll pack 'em all away." 



84 



THE BUSINESS WOMAN 

/^ H ! I'm the clever person in the nifty tailor-made, 
^^ In the freshly-laundered chimesette and gloves ; 
Oh ! I'm the one that stalks about in darkness, unafraid, 
Oh ! I'm the business woman without loves. 

But my ! if you could see me when I get back home at 
night, 
When I shed the artificials that adorn. 
With my hair brushed slick as bacon, you might say, 
"The awful fright!" 
If I didn't look so dreadfully forlorn. 

In my dressing gown and slippers I am really just a 
frump. 

And perhaps I'm guilty of some jealous tears; 
How I envy idle women when I sink down in a lump. 

And long to sleep a hundred million years. 

I get hungry for a petting, I get hungry just to cling, 
I get hungry for some clothes I didn't buy, 

I get hungry for a husband and a shiny wedding ring — 
And in lieu I have a good old-fashioned cry. 

But next morning when the clock goes off, I dart out, 
like a fish, 
Through the shower while my tingling body sings ; 
I've forgotten last night's envy, and my "honest-injun" 
wish 
Is to join the luring rush of bigger things. 



85 



THE DIVORCE GAME 

DIVORCE is perfectly sane and sound, 
But it's dreary not having a man around. 
You may puff on a butt to get the smell — 
But somehow it hasn't the personnel. 
You may prop the paper against the bowl — 
It's the look of a man without the soul. 
You may live in disorder to get the feel — 
There's a masculine tone, but it isn't real. 
I've worked at the game for a month or two, 
And honest-to-God ! this is entre nous — 
Divorce is perfectly sane and sound — 
But I like the fact of a man around. 

TREASON 

WHY should I love, my love, but thee? 
There are so many me's in me ! 
I need one love for sacred heights, 
Another love for gaudy lights, 
A jolly love, a love sedate, 
A simple love, a love that's great. 
And when I've loved them each in turn, 
The homely me of me will yearn 
For flaming logs and soothing tea — 
And then I'll fly back here to thee! 



86 



THE GAME 

I'M a liquid, soft-eyed cheater, I'm a treasury depleter, 
I'm a gambler, and I've learned to stack the pack; 
Im a saccharine blackmailer, a policeman and a jailer, 

I'm a cultivated mental jumping jack; 
I'm a parlor entertainer, I'm a very shrewd campaigner ; 

When it's worth my while — a monkey on a stick; 
I'm a listener, pumper, talker, dancer, sitter, runner, 
walker ; 
I'm a just-this-side-the-border lunatic. 
If the law could only reach me, it would grab me and 
impeach me; 
But it can't, for I'm a licensed charlatan. 
Lord! It takes some discipline, for it's a life job that 
I'm in for — 
I'm a woman, and I'm married to a man ! 



S7 



DIFFERENT METHODS 

WHEN the dinner bell tinkles on Riverside 
Drive, 
Mistress Phyllis is coaxed to the meal by her nurse; 
The Mater and Pater Familias arrive, 

As silent and stately as plumes on a hearse. 

It's a little bit different on Avenue A, 
Where gay Mrs. Tony is lathered with sweat^ 

From scrubbing and washing and cooking all day; 
"Come Beatrice, Donatello, Bologna, Raffaello, Pietro, 
Giuseppe, Giacomo, Bellini! Come eata Sphaget!" 



U 



THE CUTEY 

LIKE mother's cross-barred apple pie, 
She lures you when you wander by; 
That baby mouth ! Those satin cheeks ! 
That silver cadence when she speaks ! 

That tiny, rosebud, angel face, 
Framed in a fluff of tulle and lace; 
That hair through which the wavelets run- 
An aureole of light and sun. 

How sweet ! Oh, yes ! we know the type ; 

Its brains would nearly fill a pipe ; 

It never has a thought to spare 

From boots and dress, or hats and hair. 

Its conversation, "Simply grand", 
"Well, really, now", "It beats the band", 
"So good of you", and "Must you go?" 
With polka dots of "Yes" and "No". 

With all her fuss and folderol, 
She's just a stupid little doll; 
How many men with any brain 
Would turn to look at her again? 

How many, understanding life. 
Would ask her to become their wife — 
Would trust to her their whole career? — 
About a million every year ! 



89 



THE LAND OF DARE 

OH ! marriage is sweet — in a straight-laced way, 
And home is a place to yawn, 
And cuddle down snug at the end of day. 

And rise with the red-streaked dawn; 
But it's stale, stale, stale for a high-flown soul, 

Each night in the back-log glare. 
So I pillow my face in a soft cool place, 
And sail to the land of dare ! 

Where men are lovers, and love rings true. 

And thrills are the dole of fate; 
Where all the women you ever knew, 

Swing in at the open gate; 
For there we may feel with a brim-full heart. 

And a passion that's strong and real. 
In the Greek-god way for a year or a day — 

In the way we were meant to feel ! 

It's a hungering, eager, great, great crowd 

Of virtuous maids and dames; 
And the register pages are white and proud 

With a legion of unsoiled names; 
And the only women we do not meet. 

Are the prophets marked out from birth — 
For the women who dare ! Oh ! they never go there 

They live their dreams on earth 1 



90 



PROSE AND POETRY 

THE one, undaunted, sails along — 
Her clear, cool brow could think no wrong ; 
The city dust-blow in her face. 
She moves with mingled force and grace — 
A Victory of Samothrace. 

Her sister stays a while to pose, 

Or dream a dream, or smell a rose ; 
All things are lovely to her sight — 
The pain, the joy, the dark, the light — 
A-thrill, she stumbles through the night. 

Forget those roses by the way ! 

This earth's no earth for dreams, I say — 
And yet the gods on high decree. 
That stumbling dreamers first shall see 
The truths, that beckon Victory. 



fl 



CHILDREN 

MADE out of mistletoe, bubbles and holly, 
Guarded with kisses and aching and folly; 
Who could foretell, by your dimples and laughter, 
The treacherous pain that is bound to come after? 
But wait ! In the end you will win for your folly 
Your own little mistletoe, bubbles and holly! 

THE BEWILDERED SEER 

I KNOW that eggs and butter-bread 
Will make me strong and wise; 
I know that silk-worms spin their thread 
To dress the butterflies. 

When roses blossom on the earth 

Their tears are mist and dew; 
When little babies die at birth, 

They paint the heavens blue. 

I know a thousand stranger things — 

Like toads that turn to glass. 
And bats that take off water-wings. 

And dry them on the grass. 

But tell me where the hours stay. 
And where time keeps the light. 

And how a big thing like To-day 
Can hide itself To-night. 



92 



LITTLE CENTRAL PARK WEST 

DON'T I wished that I was free? 
Don't I wished they'd let me be 
Just a little alley kid 
Like Viola, Mike and Sid? 
No one sends them off to bed; 
No one combs their curly head ; 
No one says they "must" or "shan't"; 
No one says they "won't" or "can't" ; 
No one makes them bathe and dress 
Even if they're in a mess ; 
They can stay outside all night, 
And fuss and pinch and scratch and fight, 
And eat banana peels and dirt. 
And go all day without a shirt, 
And swaller fruit that isn't ripe — 
Wished I was a gutter snipe ! 



93 



SWINGING 

SWING me high into the tree-tops ! 
Let me ride upon the air, 
Till I feel a tiny shiver 
When the branches rock and quiver ! 
Swing me higher if you dare ! 
Swing me high into the tree-tops, 
Let me ride upon the air! 

I will hold the ropes so tightly — 
Swinging is a lovely play; 
Swing me higher than the peaches — 
Higher than the gate-post reaches! 
Let me almost fly away! 
I will hold the ropes so tightly — 
Swinging is a lovely play ! 

Lovely, lovely, please to leave me ; 
I would feel the old cat die ; 
I am swinging lower, lower, 
I am swinging slower, slower — 
Now it's just a rock-a-bye — 
Lovely — lovely — please — to — leave — me 
I — would — feel — the — old — cat — die. 



94 



THE WIND 

I AM the wind, your brother; 
I rattle your roof at night; 
I puff with my breath to smother 
Your wee little candle light. 

I blow on the clothes to dry them, 
And chase all the clouds away, 

And kiss tiny folks when I spy them 
Careless of what they say. 

I shake the sign of the barber, 
And blow the dust in your eyes ; 

I sail the boats to the harbor. 
And keep your kites in the skies. 

The mill I turn with my power, 
The power that saws the logs, 

And grinds the corn and the flour, 
And scatters away the fogs. 

So aren't you really ugly, 

To fuss when I'm loud and bold, 
For while you are reading snugly — 

I'm way out here in the cold. 



95 



THE SUN 

THE sun makes all the cherries red, 
And makes the oak trees tall, 
And ripens berries by the shed 
And grapes along the wall. 

The sun makes wrens and robins sing, 
And makes the kittens play, 

And stretch and roll like anything, 
And frolic all the day. 

And I'll take off my stockings, so 
My legs can have some fun. 

And roll up both my sleeves and go 
A-swimming in the sun. 

THE STRANGE LOOKING-GLASS 

I KNOW the strangest looking-glass 
That's sunk into the ground, 
And little buds and blades of grass. 
Caress it all around. 

And down within, I see my face, 

And all the lovely sky; 
And fluffy clouds that look like lace, 

Go swiftly rolling by. 

It's full of everything that's queer — 

Just like a picture book ; 
But oh! I must not tease you dear — 

It's just a little brook. 



96 



SHADDERS 

OUR new house is way up yonder 
On the hill by City Park, 
And I tell you it's a wonder 
When I'm up there after dark. 

It's the scarey way the shadders 
Chase me everywhere I go, 

Up and down the workmen's ladders. 
In and out, and thus and so. 

All the boards just keep a-creakin* 

Every single step I take, 
And behind me comes a-sneakin' 

Somethin' cold that makes me quake. 

Reckon it's because the winders 
And the doors ain't finished yet. 

That the specks, as black as cinders. 
Whisk about and never set. 

But just one thing keeps me thinkin', 
Keeps me 'wake all night about — 

When it's finished will the slinkin' 
Things be in the house, or out? 



97 



THE BEST BOOK 

IF I should read a million books, 
I would not be as wise, 
As if I studied trees and brooks 
Out underneath the skies. 

For there is where the pigeons build, 
And where they try their wings, 

And where the good brown earth is tilled, 
And where the robin sings. 

And where the silk-worm weaves and spins, 

And where the blossoms blow, 
And where the rivulet begins. 

And where the cherries grow. 

A million books will do no harm — 

But think of nature's stores 
Of birds and bees and endless charm! 

Hurrah for out-of-doors! 



98 



THE RAG MAN IS COMING 

OH! gather the bottles, the cans and the rags, 
The strings and the papers and silly old tags— 
Oh ! tinkely, tinkely, tinkely, bell ! 
The rag man is coming, I know him so well 
By his tinkely, tinkely bell. 

He'll give you a candy or maybe a cent, 
And off he will jog on his journey content. 

With his tinkely, tinkely, tinkely bell. 
Just give him some bottles, and all will be well 

With the tinkely, tinkely bell. 

So clean up the attic and cellar today. 
And gather the rubbish with no more delay. 

For the tinkely, tinkely, tinkely bell. 
There is nothing on earth that will please him so well, 

Old tinkely, tinkely bell! 



<i9 



A LITTLE BOY'S WISH 

I WOULD like to be the leader of a military band, 
I would like to make the horns go "Pumpty pum!" 
I would like to train the drummer so that when I raised 
my hand 
He would make the drum go "Bumpty, bumpty, bum 1" 

I would like to march before them with a feather in 
my hat, 
With a golden stick a-twirling on my thumb ; 
I would like to have a monkey and a boneless acrobat 
Who could make the people laugh when they were 
glum. 

I would like to make the world a very merry circus tent, 
Full of lolly-pops and ginger-snaps and gum. 

Full of military music that would follow where I went. 
With the drummer beating "Bumpty, bumpty, bum I" 



IM 



THE GREAT WHITE HORSE 

I'M as proud as a knight and as rich as a king, 
For I ride a white charger around in a ring — 
With a trotty-trot-trot and a swingy-swing-swing — 
With his trotty-trot-trotty-trot-trot. 

And he jumps like a flea, and he runs like a deer, 
And he wears a long tail and a floppy old ear, 
And he knows how to pitch, and he knows how to rear- 
With his trotty-trot-trotty-trot-trot. 

He never drinks water and never eats feed. 
Does he get himself curried? Indeed he does not. 
He's my steady old, funny old, hobby-horse steed — 
With his trotty-trot-trotty-trot-trot. 



101 



SCISSORS TO GRIND 

SCISSORS to grind! 
Scissors to grind ! 
Oh ! come let us go to the kitchen and find, 

A knife or a saw or some shears if we can, 
To bring to the kindly old grindery man ! 

He moistens his wheel, 

And lays on the steel. 

And pedals his foot with a great deal of zeal. 

The water just spittles and spattles and spops — 
But the kindly old grindery man never stops, 

Till the edges are bright 

As the stars in the night, 

And they look to his squinty old eye to be right; 
Then we give him a nod and a shiny new dime 
And ask him to call again some other time. 



102 



THE MUD PIE BAKER 

I'M a jolly baker; 
Come around and buy, 
Buns or bread or cake or 
Ginger-snaps or pie! 

I will sell you twenty 

Cookies for a pin, 
Or an awful plenty 

Puddings in a tin. 

I will sell you muffins 
Made of mud-cake-dough, 

Full of rocky stuffins — 
But of course you know, 

I am only cheating. 

You are far too wise 
To believe in eating 

Hot ! Mud ! Pies ! 



103 



WAKE UP, OLD EARTH! 

TITAKE up, old Earth ! You sleepy head ! 
^^ It's time to shout and play. 
You sleepy head! You slug-a-bed! 
Today's the first of May. 

All winter long you've snored and slept 

Beneath the snow and ice; 
All April long you've sniffed and wept — 

Is such behavior nice? 

Today's the first of May, old world; 

It's time to dance and sing, 
For all the rosebuds are uncurled. 

And birds are on the wing. 

You'll laugh and stay awake till Fall — 
Five grass-green months, and then, 

When winter blows his icy call, 
You'll go to sleep again. 



104 



SEE-SAW 

CEE-SAW ! See-saw ! Over by the gate ! 

^ See-saw ! See-saw ! Up and down with Kate ! 

Katie is a lovely girl. 

How she bobs that golden curl ! 

Down she comes and up she goes; 

See her spread her pinkie toes ! 

She is such a playful mate — 

Laughing, curly-headed Kate! 

See-saw ! See-saw ! Such a lovely game ! 
She bobs ! I bob ! Up and down the same. 
She goes up and I go down, 
Laughing like a silly clown ; 
She goes down and I go up, 
Wiggling like a jolly pup; 
First we bump, and then we fly 
Like a rocket to the sky. 

See-saw! See-saw! Oh, I struck my knee! 
See-saw ! See-saw Pretty hard on me ! 
Do I cry and moan and fuss 
Till my face is in a muss? 
Not a bit. I simply smile 
Though it hurts me all the while; 
When we've lovely games to do, 
We must take the hurtings too. 



105 



PLAY! PLAY! 

IT'S wise to know your alphabet — 
To read and write and spell, 
And little folks should not forget 

To learn their tables well; 
But best of anything I say 
Is learning how to romp and play. 

For we may read, so I am told, 

And learn piano too, 
When we are tired or ill or old 

With nothing else to do; 
But we can only romp and play 
When we are young and strong and gay. 

So put your shoes and stockings on, 

And grab your hat and run. 
And play upon the grassy lawn 

Until the day is done. 
For there is nothing on this earth 
So sweet and good as play and mirth. 



106 



DOUGHNUT NIGHT 

FRIDAY night, as sure as fate, 
When the clock is striking eight 
Mama shuts the kitchen door, 
Spreads some papers on the floor, 
Hurries quickly to and fro, 
And makes the goody doughnuts grow. 

White and sticky little things, 
Flat like giants' wedding rings. 
Till the grease and smoky smell 
Make them spitty-spat and swell. 
When you think they're gonna burn — 
Flippy-flop. They make a turn. 

Mama fishes them about, 
Makes a catch, and pulls them out ; 
Lays them on the pantry shelf 
Where I sugar them myself. 
Oh! I'm dying for a bite, 
But I dasn't eat at night. 

So I tumble off to bed 
With the doughnuts in my head, 
And I dream of doughnut hoops, 
Doughnut ropes and doughnut loops. 
I must run and jump them fast 
Till I reach the very last 
When my mother calls to me — 
Breakfast ! Doughnuts ! Cambric tea ! 



107 



HALLOW-E'EN IS COMING! 

OH! thread your apples on a string, 
And buy a thimble and a ring, 
And all the corn that you can bring — 
For Hallow-e'en is coming ! 

Go pick your pumpkin big and stout, 
And cut old Jack-o-lanterns out, 
And stick your candles all about — 
For Hallow-e'en is coming! 

Be sure you have a stick of lead, 
A great big fool's cap for your head, 
A candle burning by your bed — 
For Hallow-e'en is coming ! 

Some tick-tack twine, a bunch of keys, 
Some lanterns for the garden trees. 
And tasty candy recipes — 

For Hallow-e'en is coming! 

We make believe on Hallow-e'en 
That little fairies can be seen 
All dancing 'round their king and queen. 
So every little girl and boy, 
Get down your silk and corduroy, 
And dance yourselves about with joy — 
For Hallow-e'en is coming! 



108 



NEW SHOES 

NO matter how I tippy-toe, 
No matter where I try to go, 
My brand new shoes keep squeaking so. 
You sneaky, squeaky, creaky shoe! 
I really don't know what to do 
With such a naughty thing as you ! 
You squeaky shoe! 

You squeak like tiny little mice 
Who've nibbled at the cheese and rice ; 
Now tell me, shoes, is this thing nice? 
You sneaky, squeaky, creaky shoe! 
I really don't know what to do 
With such a naughty thing as you ! 
You squeaky shoe ! 

You squeak like squirrels in a tree, 
You squeak at mother, then at me ; 
Now what can all this trouble be? 
You sneaky, squeaky, creaky shoe! 
I really don't know what to do 
With such a naughty thing as you 1 
You squeaky shoe! 



109 



A CHANCE FOR EVERY NAUGHTY BOY 

I'VE been very, very naughty, 
I've been anything but nice, 
I've refused my bread and butter 
And I've pushed aside my rice. 

I've been rude to gentle people, 
I've been stingy with my games, 

I have pouted all the morning, 
And I've said some ugly names. 

And I felt most very worried 

Till I heard my mother say, 
"Doesn't matter, little fellow; 

For tomorrow's New Year's Day !" 

So I'll start tomorrow morning. 

With a smile and not a tear, 
Then I'll be the bestest fellow 

Every day of all the year. 



lit 



THANKSGIVING 

I AM thankful Summer's past 
With its birds and bees; 
And the Fall is here at last 
With its golden trees. 

I'll be thankful when the frost 

Silvers rake and hoe, 
And the golden leaves are lost 

Underneath the snow. 

I'll be thankful for the Spring, 
For the buds and grass, 

For the little birds that sing 
Sweetly as they pass. 

I am glad and thankful too; 

Most the time I've found — 
I would wish the same to you, 

All the year around. 



Ill 



ANOTHER SCHOOLROOM 

SCHOOL is over ! School is over ! 
All the books are packed away ! 
Winter's gone with snow and shivers, 
Over all the sunshine quivers ! 
See the boats upon the rivers! 
Come and laugh and romp and play ! 
School is over ! School is over ! 
And the books are packed away ! 

Nature's book is spread before me 
Out beneath the summer sky ; 
I shall study birds and flowers, 
River banks and shady bowers, 
I shall race the woods for hours, 
With the golden butterfly. 
Nature's book is spread before me 
Out beneath the summer sky. 

I shall learn the wonder lessons 
In the lovely out-of-doors ; 
What's a schoolroom for a fellow 
When the fruit is ripe and mellow. 
And the roses red and yellow 
With their bursting honey-stores? 
Come with me, and learn the lessons 
In the lovely out-of-doors! 



112 



THE BUSY PLANTS 

VITHEN winter winds blew loud and cold, 
' ' And you were warm and snug, 
When all the winter tales were told 

Between a kiss and hug, 
Way down beneath the ice and snow 
The little plants were working so. 

And all the roots were saying, "Now, 

Catch on and dig down hard!" 
And all the stems were learning how 

To climb into your yard ; 
And little buds were dressing up 
To be a rose or buttercup. 

So now that all the world is gay 

And school is nearly done, 
You're not the only dears in May 

Deserving of the sun ; 
For while you worked all winter through, 
The little plants were working too. 



113 



IN GRANDMA'S VILLAGE 

IN Grandma's village in the past 
When whooping-cough beset it, 
They dressed the little children fast 
And sent them out to get it. 

And if the measles happened through, 
Dear Grandma didn't worry. 

She said, "Just stop and get that too — 
I think you'd better hurry." 

Poor Granny thought it had to be. 
And that's the thing that drove her 

To have them catch it young, you see, 
And get the trouble over. 

But now when Miss Disease comes by, 
We stand far off and rubber, 

And keep our bodies well — oh, my! 
We absolutely snub her. 



114 



LAUGHTER 

CRY baby! Cry baby! Why do you cry, 
And take all the brightness right out of your eye, 
And snuffle your nosey, and pucker your face, 
And draw your nice dimples ker-smack out of place? 

For laughter is nicer and easier, too. 
You try it some day when you've nothing to do. 
It makes you contented and dimpled and fat, 
And gay as a birdie and sleek as a cat. 

So next time you pucker your face for a cry, 

Just say to yourself in a whisper, "Not I !" 

Then throw back your shoulders and lift up your head, 

And give a great ripple of laughter instead. 



115 



THE OLD YEAR'S GIFT 

AN old man rang the bells last night, 
And knocked on every door, 
And breathed against the candle light 
And said, "I'll come no more," 

On every step, in every town, 

Before the dawn of day, 
He laid a snow-robed baby down 

And gently turned away. 

He called, "Goodbye! goodbye! my dear, 

I'll leave my work to you !" 
The old man was the old, old year, 

The baby was the new. 



116 



A LITTLE PHILOSOPHER IN A HOSPITAL 
WARD 

BEFORE I came up here to stay 
I lived 'most everywhere; 
My papa, he just run away — 

I guess he didn't care; 
We left our high-up little place, 
Because my mama peddled lace, 

And moved 'way down beneath the ground — 
That's cheap and we could save; 

I liked it there because I found 
It smelled good — like a cave. 

And I could dance about and sing 

And play I was a pirate king. 

And tie my mama to the seat, 
Till she would call me "Goose," 

And steal her hairpins for a treat 
While she was working loose ; 

She'd say "I'll punish you for this !" 

And that meant just another kiss. 

And then one night I woke up sick, 

I spinned just like a top; 
And all my heart was thumping quick 

And wouldn't never stop ; 
And when I got back in my head 
I found me laying here in bed. 



117 



I guess it was mouldy down under the ground 

Where mama and I used to stay, 
But there isn't a place where more flowers are found, 

So big and so red and so gay. 
Our walls were a forest of little green trees, 

With roses and pinks bursting through, 
And gathering honey were millions of bees, 

And over it all — diamond dew. 

The hospital paint is not pretty at all — 

Just solemn and awfully clean ; 
If I were a gardener I'd plant on the wall 

A beautiful garden of green. 
White daisies and tulips and roses of red, 

All lovely and fresh day and night; 
And they'd wobble and bobble to each little bed, 

And help little sickles to fight. 

)(c :tc :^ * « 4i 

Don't you hear the horns a-tooting? 
Oh ! the circus is in town. 
Don't you hear the children hooting — 
Don't you see the funny clown? 

And the silver bareback rider — 

She's so beautiful and proud ! 
And the acrobat beside her — 

See him bowing to the crowd ! 



118 



There's the fearless lion tamer, 
And she's cracking of her strap, 

And the clown pretends to shame her, 
With his pointed dunce's cap. 

Oh! it makes me feel so lonely, 
Always, always here in bed — 

For the great parade is only 
Passing in and out my head. 

41 « 4c 41 # * 

Last night when I was sleeping, 
They came and took her out ; 

I wish that I'd been peeping 
When they were all about. 

And where could she be going? 

It makes me want to cry; 
She went without my knowing. 

And I didn't say goodbye. 

It hurts me when I worry, 

But oh ! I want to know 
Just why they had to hurry — 

And where did Mary go? 
« ♦ « « 41 ♦ 
The moppy-man is at the door. 
Come set your bucket on the floor, 



119 



And make a very dreadful slop 

With swishy, swashy suds and mop — 

Oh! you moppy, moppy, moppy-man, 

You moppy, moppy-man! 

Now, wipe the walls and clean the glass, 
And shine the doorknobs when you pass, 
And fold the rugs into a square, 
And hang them in the sun to air ! 

Oh! you moppy, moppy, moppy-man, 

You moppy, moppy-man ! 

And I am busy being sick. 

And you are busy with your stick; 

You do so much, indeed you do, 

But just like me, you're never through. 

Oh! you moppy, moppy, moppy-man, 

You moppy, moppy-man ! 
t * * * * * 

Oh ! the lay-awake hours in Hospitalville, 

When my heart bumps away like a bob down a hill, 

And the night nurse puts something all cold on my 

head — 
Then turns the poor crippled boy over in bed. 



120 



She calls me "Poor childie" and "My little man," 
And begs me so nicely to sleep if I can; 
It's then that I shut up my eyes with my thumb, 
And try to make everything all over dumb; 

But off in the darkness I hear people speak, 

And the cart with the rubber wheels makes a loud 

squeak. 
There's always excitement at night when they ride — 
The babies are born, or else someone has died. 

I want to know all that the noise is about. 

I listen and listen, but cannot find out; 

Then somebody chokes, and the nursie don't hear — 

And somebody calls, and I shiver with fear. 

And then just as soon as I know it is day, 

And the night nurse is coming around with my tray, 

I shut up my eyes, and I go to sleep tight, 

Just like the to-day-time is really last night! 

ii ^ :^ Hfi t '^ * 

Today, when I was feeling good, they put me in a chair, 
And rolled me on the rubber strip as far down as the 

stair ; 
I passed the big sun-parlor where the roses grow in 

vases. 
And I saw some lovely ladies, very white in silk and 

laces. 
I saw some babies, new and red, all laying in a row; 
If any stork is out of them, this is the place to go. 



121 



I traveled by the "Silence Hall," where rich folks do 
their moaning — 

They suffer even more than us — to count up by their 
groaning. 

I stopped at Elevatorville to laugh with crippled Ed ; 

He stayed when he got well because they give him meals 
and bed ; 

I might have traveled farther down the narrow, white- 
washed alley, 

But I heard the dishes rattling, and I met with "Supper 
Sally." 

4c 4c ♦ 4: « ♦ 4t 

Down in the chapel they preached on a "movement," 
That rich people plan for the poor folks; and still, 

I'm sure that the very most 'portantest 'provement, 
Is so little children won't have to be ill. 



12. 



Fresh air keeps my spirits bold, 
And sunshine turns the world to gold. 

^ :^ t * * * * 
Last night the world was chocolate pie, 

All ready for to bake; 
And when the snow fell from the sky— 

It turned to wedding cake ! 

Xc >K 4c * 4^ * * 

I like to shut my eyes and dream 

Of skies that look like glass. 
Of swimming up the shiny stream, 

And baking on the grass, 
Of climbing up an apple tree. 

And shouting long and deep. 
Of stealing songs from bird and bee — 

Oh! dreams are nice to keep. 

,|c 4c * * 4c 4: * 

If I should ever go to see 

The really-world — now answer me I 
Would all the lovely places look 

The same as in my picture book? 

^ 4c 4c 4: >» 4e « 

The nurse has got a little shed 
Of dotted Swiss upon her head; 
It's got a point and slanting sides. 
And when she walks it always slides ; 
It's small enough to fit her ear— 
And not a hat at all, I fear. 



123 



I get a reg-lar bath at ten ; 
At twelve I get my dinner, then 
I go to sleep a bit till three, 
And then I get some hot beef tea. 

Now folks don't get so much to eat, 
A-peddling laces in the street, 
But then, they get their reg'lar kisses — 
And that's the thing a Sicky misses. 

^ He * * ^ >|: * 

I like to steal a bag of toys 
From all the wealthy girls and boys ; 
That's nothing very wrong, it seems, 
Because I do it just in dreams. 

He * :|c * >|c * ^ 

I swallered on a pill tonight — it stuck as it went down. 
But gee ! I looked the other way and didn't even frown ; 
Because my book says, "Take your pills and do not fuss 

or pout, 
And then in just about a day, you'll all be up, and out!" 

He 4: * * * >|( >|c 

We chuldern have 'scovered the funniest way 

Of knowing ezactly the time of the day; 

Vv^hen they feed us we know that it's nearly to seven ; 

When they bathe us all up then it's nearly to 'leven ; 

When they rattle the dishes it's twelve on the dot ; 

At one we all tumble to sleep on the spot, 

We stretch ourselves out and start gaping at three, 



124 



Then nursie comes in with a cup of beef tea; 
The doctor peeps in at a quarter of five, 
And ten minutes later the suppers arrive ; 
At seven the night-nurses clean up the muss ; 
At eight we are off on the Sleepyville bus. 

9|c :|c * 4: 3tc )tc 3|c 

Now, why should anyone be scared 

Of just a doctor man? 
I'd hug and kiss him if I dared — 

Perhaps some day I can. 

My goodie doctor man ! 

I bet you think he 'zamines me. 
And listens to my heart ; 

But oh ! you're wrong as you can be ; 
He 'zamines just the chart — 
And not my baddy heart ! 

* :i< H: * * * 5i-' 

When everybody's waking. 

Then the night nurse goes to bed. 
When everybody's sleeping, 
She is waking in her head. 

She never gets the sunshine, 
'Cause her blinds are always drawn ; 

And she never gets the moonshine, 
'Cause she's working till the dawn. 



125 



If you'd meet her in the hallway, 

Starched all up so stiff and neat, 
You would never guess that under 
All the starch she's soft and sweet. 
******* 
Last night I dreamed a goodie trip — 
I sailed to Coney in a ship ; 
And goodness ! it was nice to feel 
The red-hot sand against my heel, 
And roll upon the "Wishing Waves," 
And go exploring in the caves, 
And steeplechase like well boys do, 
And pay a visit to the Zoo ; 
And hear the monkeys grunt and squeak 
As though they tried so hard to speak ; 
And see the peacocks dragging round 
Their lovely tails upon the ground; 
And watch the lions snatch the meat 
And hold it tight beneath their feet; 
I would have traveled farther still 
But 'citement makes me feel so ill; 
In fact, I'm just so tired I fear 
I'll have to rest another year! 



126 



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